


Strength is a Kindness (Kindness is a Lie)

by nightwalker



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Not A Fix-It, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwalker/pseuds/nightwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gods are not kind.  The world is neither sad nor merry. And Bilbo is a Baggins from Bag End, but he is a little Tookish too. He is stronger than he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strength is a Kindness (Kindness is a Lie)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kahn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kahn/gifts).



> This is set post-BotFA and is canon-compliant, so please heed the warnings! Implied Bilbo/Thorin can be read as friendship if you like .
> 
> Some of the dialogue at the end is directly from The Hobbit, by JRR Tolkien, though I have taken some liberties with it.
> 
> Written as a giftfic for Kahn who yelled at me in all caps when she read this.

Balin looks older than he had just a few days ago, every day his hundred-plus years. The lines on his face have deepened into crags and grief has turned his mouth into a thin, hard line. Now, nearly two full days after the battle has finally ground to a halt, there is still blood on his boots, but his hands and tunic are clean of the filth of the battlefield.

He stands there before them for a long moment, saying nothing.

Dwalin does not speak, only tilts his head back to gaze up at his brother. The warrior's knee is wrapped in thick bandages and he remains in bed only because he cannot support his own weight to get out of it. And because there is no longer anywhere for him to go. No one left, save those here in this very tent, for him to protect.

“Thorin is awake,” Balin says finally and it is heavy and ominous and a little terrible to hear.

Bilbo has not cried yet, but he thinks he might now, heat pressing painfully against the back of his eyes. 

Dwalin grunts. “The gods are have never been _kind_.”

“He wants to see you, Master Baggins.”

Only a few days past, Bilbo had never wanted to see Thorin again. He'd even entertained thoughts of doing something terribly un-Bagginsish, like punching Thorin right in his craggy nose. Just a few days past he'd though he'd never be _able_ to see Thorin again. 

Bilbo's boots were not covered in blood but his hands were scrubbed red and raw. 

“All right,” he said. “Unless there is anyone else who should go first?” He intends to allow the dwarves to say their goodbyes, but Balin shakes his head.

“Go on,” Dwalin says. He is not looking at either of them. He has not looked anyone in the eye since Bilbo found him sitting silently beside his prince's body. “If he doesn't apologize, kick him a couple of times. It always worked when he were a lad.”

His voice doesn't shake or waver, but Bilbo hears grief like the low rumble of an earthquake in each carefully spoken word.

“I can do that,” he says quietly and follows Balin.

The tent where Thorin is resting is not far. Larger than the one Bilbo and Dwalin have been sleeping in and guarded by several dwarves of the Iron Hills, it is off-white and mud-spattered like everything else in this godsforsaken place. The guards don't try to stop them as they approach, but Balin halts a few feet from the entrance, and lays a hand upon Bilbo's shoudler.

“He has asked after his companions,” Balin says lowly. “I have not been honest with him.”

No. Bilbo rubs his fingers together, the greasy salve Oin had given him to ease the sting of raw skin making them slick. The gods may not be kind but Balin is.

“If he asks you,” Balin says. “I would never ask you to lie.”

“There's no shame in kindness,” Bilbo says, and he says it sharp and fierce because otherwise the heat in his eyes will be tears, and the burn in his throat will make his voice break. He cannot have that, not yet.

Balin's hand tightens on his shoulder briefly, then falls away. “You're as strong as any dwarf, Bilbo Baggins.”

That's a kindness, too. Bilbo knows it isn't true.

The tent is dark and quiet. No candles are left to burn, since Thorin is the only patient. No healers hover and murmur to one another. They've done all they can do here. There are better places for them to spend their energies.

Bilbo pauses by the side of Thorin's bed. The King Under The Mountain is pale and still. His hair is clean and unbraided and the thick white tunic he wears is clean and unstained by blood or worse.

His nephews had taken after him. Kili had the same dark coloring, the same sharp eyes that saw everything. Fili had the same build, the same presence that let him command a room just by entering it. 

Bilbo's throat burns and he clenches his fingers together as he stands at Thorin's bedside.

Thorin does not move. But his eyes flicker and part. He watches Bilbo with dark eyes clouded by pain and the healer's herbs. “You came.”

Bilbo nods. Swallows. “Of course I came. Look at all the trouble you get into when I'm not here.”

Thorin's smile is wan and pale. “Good thief,” he says in a thin, whispery voice. “I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed.”

“Yes.” Bilbo's breath comes heavy and sharp before he controls it. “Yes, the healers have told me. It is a bitter end, Thorin. I would give much to have this adventure end another way.”

“Not I, Mister Baggins.” Thorin's hand shakes fiercely, but he manages to lift it off the bed and Bilbo takes it in both of his. “No. This is my end and better than I deserve.” His eyes are heavy and dark, but there are no tears there. “I have outlived my boys, Bilbo. I saw them fall. May the gods themselves have mercy on me. I cannot live in this world knowing what I have done.”

“It was not your doing,” Bilbo says. It is a kindness.

“You remain a terrible liar, burglar.” Thorin closed his eyes. “I will have no more of gold or silver or jewels. All that was precious to me in this world is gone save one thing. I would part from you with friendship, Bilbo Baggins. I take back my words at the gate. If you cannot call me friend before the end of this, I beg only your forgiveness, which I do not deserve.”

“You have it.” Bilbo clutched Thorin's hand tightly and leaned over the bed until he could press his forehead against Thorin's as he had seen the dwarves do in parting. “My forgiveness if you need it. My friendship whether you want it or not, you stubborn old fool. I would have stayed with you. I should have-”

“None of that.” Thorin's breath is warm against Bilbo's cheek. “You're stronger than you know. And wiser than this old fool ever was. If I had been a little more like you, Bilbo Baggins, if I had valued kindness and cheer – it would be a merrier world, if we were all a little more like you.” His free hand came up to rest atop Bilbo's head, and his breath was strained, becoming uneven. The words were too much for him now, and Bilbo closed his eyes so he didn't have to see the light fade from Thorin's. “But sad or merry, I must leave it now.”

Part of Bilbo, the Baggins part of him, the part that was always comfortable in the Shire, wants to beg Thorin to fight a little harder, to linger a little longer. It is the Took in him, the part that would do it all over again, that makes him say, “Good night, old friend. Rest well,” as Thorin's breath fades and his hand slips from Bilbo's hair.

No one is there to call him strong as he buries his face against the cloth of Thorin's tunic and drags in harsh, sobbing breaths. No one is there to be kind.

The gods are not kind. Bilbo scrubs salt from his cheeks and pushes his hair away from his face. The world is neither sad nor merry. And he – he is a Baggins from Bag End, but he is a little Tookish too.

He's stronger than he knows.

He draws the blanket up to Thorin's chest and straightens it carefully. 

Then goes to tell Balin and the others the King is dead.


End file.
